DeliveredIntoHisHands (23 page)

“They say the southern courtyard is
underwater,” Oran told her as he brought supper to her. “Marcus has men digging
trenches and stacking sandbags.”

“Why?” she asked as she took the food.

“Water is seeping into the keep.”

“Castle Blackthorn never had any problems
with flooding,” she commented as she dragged a spoon through the stew in her
bowl. “Mayhap the engineer who built this keep was not adept at his job.”

“He won’t like it when he finds out,” Oran
said, looking over at Garrick. “He designed the keep and told the builder to
use the best materials available. I don’t think the builder did that.”

“You think he skimped on materials?”

“I think he used inferior materials and if
that is the case, Rick will have his ba…” Oran blushed. “Head.”

“And his balls,” Antonia said with a grin.

Oran laughed. “Them too,” he agreed.

“He is not a forgiving man,” she said. “I
should know.”

“Have you forgiven him?” Oran inquired.

Antonia sighed. “Why do you and Marc keep
asking me that?” she said, her lips pursed.

“Because we love him,” Oran said. “And we
want to see him happy again.” He sat on his cot tailor-fashion and propped his
chin on his fist. “You have no idea how bad things were when he thought you
lost.”

“And you have no idea how bad it was to
lose him,” she countered. “He is my Chosen, Ori.”

“Yet you married another man,” Oran
accused. “And his enemy at that.”

She set the stew aside, her appetite gone,
and stomach queasy from the grease floating atop the meat and vegetables. “When
two years passed and I saw neither hide nor hair of him, I believed he had put
me aside. After that, I thought he had divorced me, Ori,” she said. “Then there
was the vid-shot of him and the woman.”

“The lesbian,” Oran reminded her.

She gave him an annoyed look. “I didn’t
know that.” She sat back in the chair. “I also believed he had my parents
hanged but I didn’t find out about that until after the Joining.”

“Illegal Joining,” Oran stated. “Null and
void as it is.”

“Aye,” she said and realized Garrick’s eyes
were open and he was staring at her. She got to her feet. “He’s awake.”

Oran snapped his head around and his young
face lit up. “He is!” He told one of the guards at the door to let the ones outside
know so Marc could be informed.

“And have someone fetch the healer,”
Antonia ordered. Going to the bed, she smiled hesitantly. “How are you, knave?”
she asked.

“Hungry,” he replied in a gravelly voice.

“He needs Sustenance,” Oran said and
hurried over, rolling his sleeve up as he came.

“My wife’s,” Garrick whispered.

Antonia’s lips parted. She had yet to feed
her husband and the thought of it should have disturbed her. Instead it aroused
her. But it was an intimate thing she did not want anyone else witnessing. She
turned to Oran. “This is a personal thing, Ori. Take the guards and wait
outside until I call you.”

Oran hesitated with his hand still on his
sleeve but one look at Garrick’s face and he nodded. “Aye, Your Grace,” he said
and motioned the guards from the room.

“Tell me what to do,” she said as soon as
the door closed.

“Arm,” he said, rolling his tongue over his
dry lips.

She held her arm out to him—close to his
face—and he reached up a shaky hand to grip her wrist. She watched as his lips
parted and his fangs descended. Her attention leapt from what he was about to
do to his eyes. His pupils were still dilated from the poisons that had invaded
his system and there was a feverish cast to his face. The hand on her wrist
felt hot, dry and weak. When he sank his fangs into her flesh, the heat of his
mouth worried her. His fever was still raging.

As he fed, she used her other hand to
smooth back the damp hair from his forehead, frowning at how hot his forehead
felt beneath her palm. A loud clap of thunder brought her head around.

“We’ve had rain for three days solid,” she
told him as she stroked him. “The creeks are beyond their banks and trees are
beginning to topple into the river.”

He closed his eyes as he swallowed, then
swept his tongue over the puncture marks on her arms. Feeding from her seemed
to drain him completely and that worried her even more. She started to ease her
arm from his grip but his fingers tightened a little more.

“No,” he whispered and held her arm close
to his chest. She could feel his heart beating much too hard and entirely too
fast.

“Oran!” she called out and wasn’t surprised
when the door opened immediately.

“Aye, milady?”

“Is the healer out there?”

“He is, milady. As is Marcus.”

“Send them in,” she said.

Oran opened the door all the way and Marc
came striding in, his face a study in worry. Behind was the healer with his
bag.

“The ship with the TAOS unit has arrived
from Modartha,” Marc told her. “They’ll be transporting it down to us shortly.”

“Good,” she said, meeting Marc’s anxious
gaze. “He needs it.”

The healer set his bag down on the bedside
table. “If you will excuse me, Your Grace,” he said, plainly wanting her to
move away from the bed so he could examine his patient.

“She stays,” Garrick rasped.

“Of course, General,” the healer said
though it was obvious he wasn’t happy about the situation.

Antonia watched the physician go about his
job. Both she and Marcus noted the concern in the man’s eyes.

“The TAOS has arrived none too soon,” the
healer said. “The poison is not leaving him as I had hoped it would and his
fever is much too high.” He put a hand on Garrick’s shoulder. “How is your
head, General?”

“Hurts like a motherfucker,” Garrick stated
in a weak voice.

“I’ll put you out as soon as I have you in
the TAOS,” the healer said.

The words barely spoken, a guard came to
the door to tell the healer the diagnostic unit was now in the room Garrick had
designed as a dispensary.

“I’ll carry him down,” Marc said. He folded
the sheet back. “You need to let go of her arm, Rick.”

Reluctantly Garrick released her though his
eyes were locked on hers.

“I’ll be right behind him,” she assured
him.

Marc eased his arms under Garrick’s back
and knees and lifted him with ease. Without another word, he turned for the
door, his long strides eating up the distance with the need to get his friend
into the TAOS. He took the stairs as though he carried an infant and not a
full-grown warrior.

Leading the way into the dispensary, the
healer went directly to the TAOS unit and pressed the button to retract the
plexigon shield that covered the sleigh. He stood aside as Marc gently laid
Garrick on the perma-padded platform.

“You’ll do anything to get my arms around
you, won’t you, Warwyck?” Marc teased. He laid his palm tenderly against
Garrick’s cheek then stepped back. Antonia moved in to take her husband’s hand
in hers, bringing it to rest between her breasts, her fingers wrapped around
his.

Within a few moments the healer had a
vac-syringe prepared and brought it over to the sleigh.

“Wait,” Garrick whispered. He looked up at
Antonia.

She smiled and leaned down to kiss his
lips. It was a fleeting kiss but she hoped he knew it was filled with love and
forgiveness.

He nodded his understanding of her silent
offer. One last squeeze of her hand and he let her go, closing his eyes,
curling his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Sleep well,” she told him and watched as
the healer gently eased Garrick’s head to one side then quickly administered
whatever drug it was that would put him out. There was a rapid intake of breath
then Garrick’s body went limp.

“He’ll be asleep for at least seventy-two
hours,” the healer said.

“I want men surrounding this room,” Antonia
told Marc. “Armed men both inside and outside the room.” She gave him a steady
look. “And a block on anyone attempting transport into the keep.”

“Already done,” Marc told her. “We’re
taking no chances with him.”

She drew in a ragged breath, then looked
around for a chair. She would have retrieved it but Oran anticipated her need
and brought it over to her. She thanked him, drew it close to the sleigh and
sat down. The plexigon shield slid into place over Garrick and then a soft,
quiet hum began from the workings of the TAOS unit.

“Would you have a cot brought in for me?”
she asked no one in particular.

“It will be seen to, Your Grace,” Oran
said.

“Don’t do that,” she said, glancing up at
the young man. “Either call me Tonia or—if you must—milady but I never have
cared for titles.”

“Neither does Rick,” Marc said with a
gentle smile.

She sat forward to place her palm against
the plexigon cover. It was the closest she would be able to get to him for the
next few days.

* * * * *

Alyx lowered the field glasses and snarled
like a wounded animal. The men the Modarthans captured were now hanging from
the barbican, swinging in the pouring rain. Once more the vampire had slipped
through his fingers.

As had Antonia.

“We tried to intercept the TAOS unit but
were unsuccessful, General,” one of his men informed him. “It was transported
into the keep.”

“Have you tried to transport an operative
inside?” Alyx asked.

“There is a block, Sir.”

“Well, of course there is,” Alyx hissed. “I
need to get into that keep!”

“What of the tunnel from the cave? The one
that led into the old shelter room,” the man inquired. “Would the builder have
thought to seal it off when built over the old foundation of Castle
Blackthorn?”

“Aye,” Alyx said then got to his feet.
“Aye! Even if they sealed it off mayhap we can break through a wall and into
the keep proper. I doubt Warwyck would have had hidden passageways built into
the keep but he might have. If I could just get into an interior room, I could
work my way to wherever he is keeping her.”

“And kill him.”

“Right now all I want is my woman free of
him. When she’s safe, I’ll go back for the vampire,” Alyx said.

“I can do very wicked things to your body,
wench,” he told her. His eyes were hot as the fires of hell, his fingers like
flames dancing over her breasts. “And I can do them very well.”

Antonia jerked awake, coated with perspiration
and aching between her legs. She put a hand between them to soothe the burning,
throbbing need that dwelt there. The dream from which she’d just awakened was
as crystal clear in her mind as the soft hum of the TAOS unit in which her Life-mate
lay. Trembling from the force of her arousal, she got up from the cot, wrapped
her arms tightly around her and began pacing. Her breath was coming in quick,
shallow bursts and the blood was pounding in her ears.

It took a while to get herself under
control and when she did, she walked over to the sleigh. Staring down at
Garrick’s still face, she felt a hard lump forming in her throat and tears
prickling behind her eyes. He was so pale—paler than normal—and there were dark
bruises beneath the sweep of his long eyelashes. The bruises should be gone by
now and she could tell the healer was worried that they were not.

“I’m here,” she said, reaching out to put
her palm on the plexigon shield as she had done many times over the last three
days. She had to believe he could hear her, would know she was with him. Seeing
him so completely immobile, so utterly quiet, sent ripples of fear through her
heart. He would wake—of that she had no doubt—but the longer he lay sleeping,
the harder it was for her to relax.

“Have you had anything to eat today?”

She glanced around at Marc. “I’m not
hungry.”

“Making yourself sick won’t help Rick,” he
said. He came over to the sleigh with his hands deep in his uniform pockets and
tilted his head to one side as he looked at his friend. “I don’t like those
dark circles under his eyes.”

“Neither do I and neither does the healer,”
she said. “He hasn’t said as much but it concerns him.”

“I saw the tox report on the poisons that
were on the quarrel,” he said. “A goddess-be-damned potent cocktail that was
meant to do him great damage.”

“And it has,” Antonia whispered.

“Had they managed to capture him, the
outcome would have been much worse, Tonia,” he reminded her.

“Have you heard anything about Gen. Clay’s
whereabouts?” she asked and when he shook his head, she sighed deeply. “He’ll
come at Ricky again.”

“Aye and trust me, next time we will be
ready for the little bastard,” Marc said.

“Don’t take him alive,” she said softly.

Marc blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I ask that if you do catch him, don’t take
him alive. Kill him quickly and as painlessly as possible as a favor to me.”

“And you’re asking this of me because?” he
asked, his brows drawn together.

“I have thought about it, Marc. Thought
about it long and hard. Studied every angle. Weighed every scenario. If you
bring him before Garrick, Alyx will say things to hurt my husband. He will
relate things to him that right now Garrick only imagines happened. Alyx will
take away all speculation and he will embellish actual events, blow things far
out of proportion and as I have discovered, he will lie. I would spare Garrick
listening to Alyx’s hubris. I would spare Garrick hearing things he can never
unhear.”

Marc seemed to be thinking that over. He
hunched his shoulders as though preparing for a blow. “I don’t want to see Rick
hurt, either.”

“If he and I are to start over,” she said.
“If we are to make a fresh start, he doesn’t need to know the intimate details
of what happened during my marriage to Alyx.”

“You have accepted the fact that Clay must
die?” Marc asked.

Antonia lowered her head. “Aye, I have come
to terms with it.”

“As long as you understand there is no
alternative for him, that he will be made to atone for his crimes, then I’ll
see what I can do to make sure Garrick suffers no more at the hands of Alyxdair
Clay,” Marc pledged.

“I will be grateful, Marcus,” she said.

He smiled slightly, took one final look at
Garrick then left the dispensary as the healer was coming in. The two men
stopped, spoke briefly then the healer came over to the sleigh.

“He is getting better, isn’t he?” she
asked.

“Aye, Your Grace, but something is
hindering the TAOS from doing its work,” the man replied. “I am going to take
another blood sample.”

“I have a question,” she said as the healer
set about programming the unit to take the required sample.

“Aye?”

“I was speaking with one of the guards last
eve and he was telling me about the young soldier who was hurt while
reinforcing the wall where the flood waters have caused it to buckle.”

“Ah, yes, Jeremy something or other,” he
said with a nod. “I gave him a looksee but he is a Panthera so he was already
healing by the time I got to him. He’ll be fine, Your Grace.”

“That’s good,” she said. “The guard
explained to me the quickness of it is because of the hellion that resides inside
the Panthera species.”

“Aye, it speeds up the process.”

“My question concerns the general’s
healing,” she stated. “Is his hellion aiding in the process? Or is it too,
unconscious?”

The healer stopped what he was doing and
looked up at her. He didn’t say anything for a moment then shifted his gaze to
his patient. “That is a very good question,” he said. “I had not thought of the
hellion’s role in the healing but no, it would not be unconscious. Affected by
the poison, perhaps, but it should be working to restore its host to full
health.”

“Should be?” she repeated.

“Aye. Unless something is inhibiting the
process.” He turned to the diagnostic panel beside the TAOS unit and typed in a
command.

Antonia watched him go about whatever
procedure it was he was doing without talking to him, disturbing his train of
thought. She moved back, pulling her chair aside and sitting down to avoid
getting in his way. Folding her hands in her lap, she followed his every move
as he took more samples and did more tests. At one point he stilled like a deer
caught in a phosphor light, stared unseeingly across the room, then his face
cleared and he rushed from the room with a sample in hand.

Oran came in not long after with her
morning flask of Sustenance. He smiled as he handed it to her.

“Thank you, Ori,” she said and grimaced.
Though she needed the liquid, she had not gotten used to either the taste or
texture of the stallion blood that nourished her each day. As she drank, she
cut her eyes to her husband—wishing it was his life’s essence she was
consuming.

“Marcus asked me to tell you he would be
gone from the keep for a few hours,” Ori said as he accepted the empty flask
from her. “He rode into Colton.”

“May I ask why?” she inquired, fearful he
had gone after Alyx.

“To drag the builder back here,” Oran
replied. “A portion of the east wall collapsed due to the flood waters.”

“I heard it had buckled but I didn’t know
it had caved in. Was anyone seriously hurt?”

“No, thank the goddess,” he answered. “But
there’s now a gaping hole in the wall and Rick is not going to be a happy
warrior when he learns of it.”

“I’m sure he won’t,” she said with a smile.

* * * * *

Alyx was grinning ear to ear when given the
news there was a large opening in a section of the keep’s outer wall. Though it
was being guarded and men had begun to shore it up, the breech was there and it
presented a grand opportunity for him to get inside Warwyck’s stronghold, to
find Warwyck, get rid of him once and for all then get Antonia to safety.

Though there was a transport block into the
keep, there was not one around the keep. Spies were regularly transported to
Warwyck Castle then drawn back when they’d done their jobs. It would be easy to
have himself sent there unnoticed among the hustle and bustle of repairing the wall.

“Find me some worker’s clothing,” he
ordered his aide. “The shabbier the better. I’ve a desire to get my hands dirty
laying stone.” When the man started away, Alyx called him back. “And I’ll need
a Modarthan guard’s uniform as well for when I get inside the keep. Make it a
low rank so I won’t draw attention.”

“Aye, Sir!” the man acknowledged.

While waiting for the man to return, Alyx
reached into his pocket and took out the ancient pocket watch he had carried
with him since his grandfather gave it to him on Alyx’s sixteenth birthday. He
opened it and looked down at the photograph he had surreptitiously taken with
his vid-cam and printed out over twenty years earlier. The photo was of a
smiling young girl with long dark braids and laughing green eyes.

The photo was of Antonia.

He had carried it with him every day of his
life since he’d slipped it into the frame of the watch.

As he had carried her in his heart since
she was nine years old and he twelve.

“I love you,” he whispered. “And I am
coming for you, milady. Nothing will keep us apart.”

Reverently he brought her photo to his lips
and placed a gentle kiss on the image. She was everything to him and he would
be with her or in his grave before the week was out.

* * * * *

“The hellion is dead,” the healer
pronounced, his sparse eyebrows drawn together over his hooked nose. “That is
why Lord Garrick is not healing as fast as he should.”

“Dead?” Marc asked. “How can that be?”

“The poison obviously,” the healer stated.
“It acted very slowly on the hellion but in the end destroyed it.”

“Then we must transfer another into him,”
Marc told the physician and when the healer shook his head, he demanded to know
why not.

“Unlike their Lupine and Hell-Hound
cousins, Panthera Reapers have only one hellion, a male. Once destroyed, there
is no other within the Reaper to replace it as the Lupe and Hound fledglings
will.”

“Then find one of them,” Marc demanded.
“The gods know there are enough of them mucking about the Megaverse.”

“A lot more of them than Panthera,” Oran observed.

“I took the liberty of contacting Modartha
and they are sending two Lupine hellions. It was thought they would be more
compatible than the Hell-hound variety. The hellions should be here late this
evening. I will transfer one of them as soon as it arrives.”

“I knew there had to be a reason he wasn’t
healing as he should,” Antonia said.

“I fear as his hellion died within him, it
gave off some other toxins that certainly have not helped his condition,” the
healer told her. “Try not to worry, milady. We will have him back on his feet
as quickly as possible.”

As the day wore on Antonia forced herself
to stay awake though the call of the Sun drained her. She sat beside her
husband and watched every breath he took. Now and again, either Oran or Marc
would come in to check on her and their friend. It seemed they could not rest
either as they waited for the ship carrying the hellions to arrive. By the time
it did, all three were dog-tired and weak from their all-day vigil.

“He’ll go into Conversion when the hellion
is transferred,” the healer told them as he made preparations for the
Transference. That will bring him out of stasis so we need to move him to a con
cell beforehand.” He nodded toward a metal container sitting a small tray
beside a bottle of disinfectant, a stack of cotton gauze, a set of forceps, and
a scalpel sealed inside a plastiform bag. “I am sure he would prefer you not
see what is in there or view the procedure.”

Antonia glanced at the covered container
and shuddered, shook her head to indicate she had no desire to see what a
hellion looked like. She stood to one side as the healer pushed a button to
retract the shield that kept her from touching Garrick. When it was once more
inside the wall behind the sled, she stepped forward to touch her husband’s
hand. It was cold as ice and her eyes flicked to the healer.

“To be expected,” he told her when she
asked why Garrick’s flesh held no warmth. “The TAOS lowers the body
temperature.”

She caressed Garrick’s hand then moved out
of the way as two technicians moved in to lift her husband to a gurney. He was
so still, so very pale. The sight of him so helpless broke her heart. They were
careful to keep the fine mesh that covered his naked loins in place as they
moved him.

“He’ll be all right,” Marc said, slipping
an arm around her shoulders.

“He has to be,” she said, feeling the heart
within her stutter.

She, Marc and Oran followed the gurney as
the technicians rolled it out of the room and into the corridor beyond. There
were six con cells at Warwyck Castle and it was toward those cells the
technicians made their way.

Instead of locating the cells in the lower
level of the keep as would have most designers, Garrick had insisted on having
his near the dispensary. The builder had questioned that decision but it had
been the lord’s to make. The titanium reinforced cubicles housed inside
six-foot-thick concrete walls lined with tungsten mesh were located in a
separate room two doors down from the dispensary. There were three cells on one
wall and across from them, the other three cells. Each cell had a foot-thick
titanium door into which a four-by-six-inch plexigon viewing panel had been
set. Inside the cell was a single stainless-steel bunk suspended from one wall
and a three-inch-round iron grate that served as a latrine in one corner. The
floor was concrete.

The cell had been designed to keep a Reaper
confined during Conversion.

The healer walked ahead of the technicians
to one of the cells where the door stood open. He stepped aside to allow them
to roll the gurney into the room then followed them inside as they transferred
their patient, turning him gently to his stomach atop the stainless-steel
platform, positioning his arms above his head. He placed the tray he carried on
the bunk in the space bracketed by Garrick’s arms.